


I Will Not Kiss You

by SEABlRD



Category: Warcraft (2016), Warcraft - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Implied Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 04:56:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8432689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SEABlRD/pseuds/SEABlRD
Summary: Because the hardest part of this is leaving you





	

**Author's Note:**

> Did somebody say "more unnecessary feels" *strikes a pose*

    It creeps up on him, as most curses tend to do. It’s been nearly a year since the beginning of the First War, since he and Lothar fought the demon Sargeras and killed the man’s longtime friend, Medivh. It was straightforward, to kill the demon and stop the orc invasion.

    But never has his life been easy, since the day he turned six years old Khadgar was given as a sacrifice for the happiness of others. First sold to the Kirin Tor to provide his birth family enough gold to purchase food and livestock, then bound to the future role as the solitary protector of Azeroth, and finally the last human scapegoat of the fel.

    Neither he nor Lothar knew that he would be so affected, and Alodi didn’t tell him that there would be side effects of drawing in and purging the fel from Medivh’s body. He didn’t know that, in expelling the fel without protecting himself, he would punch a hole in his own magic, his life force.

    It’s not a curse, not really, but for the effect it has it might as well be. Khadgar’s very life drains out of him slowly, his body aging at an unnatural pace and none of the priests in Stormwind could help him.

    It wasn’t too bad at first, only his hair was turning grey and his joints strained a little more than they used to, but then his muscles started deteriorating and his skin turned to paper and ash beneath his touch. His hair grew long and dusty and fell out when he pulled it too hard, he has almost no hair now, and his sight and hearing have begun to fail.

    Lothar sits with him now, beside his bed in the Keep and watching as he slowly turns into a dying husk of the man he was and would have been. Of all the things that came with his affliction, Khadgar thinks seeing Lothar so sad is the worst part of all.

    Most of the time they stay silent, especially when Khadgar’s voice fell to nothing but a whisper about a month ago, but Lothar seems chatty today. Khadgar wonders why that might be.

    “We’re going to Lordaeron, soon.” Lothar says, smiling encouragingly but the expression doesn’t reach his eyes. He pats Khadgar’s arm and Khadgar winces at the strange half-feeling. “We’re evacuating the city, we heard the orcs are coming this way. We’re gonna take you to see Lord Uther, see if he can help you.”

    Khadgar, as weak as he is, manages to shake his head. Lothar frowns and leans forward.

    “Why not, bookworm?” he asks, and Khadgar’s heart hurts for a reason other than his condition. The nickname sounds like such a distant memory, now, he hasn’t picked up a book in quite some time now. “What if Lord Uther can dispel the curse? He’s powerful, more so than even the priests. We can save you!”

    And that’s what hurts most of all. The shine of desperate hope in Lothar’s eyes every time he thinks he’s close to finding a way to help, but Khadgar knows there’s nothing to help him by now. Even if Lord Uther managed to seal up the hole in his life force, Khadgar would still be a man half dead. Even he wouldn’t be able to recover from such damage.

    Khadgar’s lips crack open and a shaky breath escapes him. Lothar, surprised, leans in closer and turns his ear toward him.

    “Can’t…” the word is soft, mouthed, but Lothar hears it anyway and draws back as though he’d been punched in the stomach.

    “What do you mean we can’t?” he demands, eyes alight with frustration and the most honest Khadgar has seen him all day. “There has to be some way to save you, you can’t leave us yet, Bookworm. There’s still hope, as long as you’re alive!”

    _I can’t leave you yet, you mean_ , Khadgar thinks. He always admired Lothar’s determination, though sometimes it edged dangerously on pigheadedness, to find a solution.

    Lothar gets up and leans over Khadgar, bending down and pressing his lips to the mage’s cheek. Khadgar turns away gently, unable to look the man in the eye.

    “I’ll send a bird to Lordaeron, tell them we’ll be coming a few days in advance.” he says, resolute. “Get some rest, okay? We have a long boat ride ahead of us.”

    As Lothar leaves the room, as Khadgar’s lungs stutter and his heartbeat slows to a crawl, the mage can’t stop the wetness that falls from his eyes as he mourns a loss he has no business losing to begin with.

    Of all the things in this world, Khadgar thinks he’ll miss Lothar the most.


End file.
